Chapter 17

August realized the magnitude of her mistake less than halfway through the concert.

She couldn't blame James for forgetting she existed. Even she was drawn into the performance, and she was supposed to be on a mission, for God's sake. But the last song was the last straw.

The irony was not lost on her. It was almost worth a laugh. She had led him right into the trap, but when it slammed shut, she was on the outside looking in at Stars and Dreams.

August had to bite her lip to keep from screaming as the crowd trickled toward the exits. It was fortunate that they were being wedged toward a too-small gate by too many people; in the din and confusion, even a mentalist wouldn't notice how thoroughly her facade had been crushed by defeat. She needed to get a grip, and quickly, to have any hope of salvaging a neutral outcome.

If James was thinking clearly, he would want to call either Kanade or Casey, or even head behind the scenes and find them in the staging area. August wracked her brain for the best way to keep him occupied, but she was second-guessing herself and nothing she thought of sounded clever.

They cleared the exit and broke into the slight chill of open air. James turned out of the chattering stream and moved a short distance away, hands in pockets, eyes on the cloudless sky. August opened her mouth to say something, anything to distract him, when the insistent beeping of her phone pierced the night.

Shit, shit, shit.

James looked over. She took the phone out of her pocket.

It was John. Of course it was. Calling from in-game for the first time since she couldn't remember when.

You have got to be kidding.

"Yes, hello?" August smiled and kept her tone bright.

"Any progress?" John said.

Bloody hell no, it's a fucking disaster and you just made it even worse.

"Hi hi," August said, thinking fast. "Actually, I went after all. Yeah, just got out. Don't apologize. It's good you stayed home to rest and such. No, not alone. A friend. Yes, a guy. Oh, shut up. Listen, get better and come with next time, right? Yeah, yeah. Thanks for calling. Cheers."

She could contact John later and explain. For now, the important thing was to escape the situation with as little damage as possible.

"Sorry about that." August put on her most apologetic smile. "Bit of a unique snowflake, that girl. Calling at this time of night just to ask about the show."

"So you can make calls from home right to in-game phones these days," James said. "Technology never ceases to amaze."

August's heart nearly stopped.

It was not, in fact, possible to call a Shattered Land phone from a real-world home line, though you could do the reverse.

But James probably didn't know that. He was no technophile. And August could always say that her friend had been calling from a home computer using NetMeet. For the moment she was safe, but only just.

"Care for a drink?" August said, hooking arms with James before he had a chance to say no.

"Is that really okay?"

"Well, I'm a night owl, I'm sure you remember. If it's okay with Mr. Kirkpatrick, it's okay with August Evans."

"You had to bail in a hurry last time you got a late night message," James said.

Shitshitshit.

In her hurry to cover for John, August had pretended the call was her non-existent friend, overlooking a crucial factor: James Franklin Kirkpatrick was a mentalist.

How attuned had his senses been when she was taking the call?

The concert might have dulled his ability to eavesdrop, and James seemed the kind of person to respect her privacy. He had no reason to suspect August of anything, unless it was a general suspicion as to why someone like her was latching so aggressively to someone like him. But James had his charms; Casey Carter and Kanade Aizawa had no fathomable ulterior motives, and they both seemed to like the guy well enough. Why should James question only August's intentions?

There was nothing for it but to keep playing the role.

"Ah, yeah, bit of an emergency that," August said, hoping he would mind his business and not ask what emergency. "This time is no biggie."

"Fair enough. I have work early tomorrow, but a little while can't hurt."

August's tension melted away with such a satisfying flush that it was all she could do not to sink to her knees and raise her arms to the heavens.

"That's the beauty, isn't it?" she said, carting James down the walk with renewed vigor. "Get pissed as a parrot, log out, and be good as new in the morning. What a gas!"

***

They talked over beers for an hour. Then James logged off, leaving August to drink and think alone.

Time to call John back. No deep revelations to report, but she could explain the lengths she had gone to in engineering situations that should play to her future advantage.

August stared at her phone, hesitating. Since moving to America, things between her and John had continually soured. That wasn't news. But today was the first time she had ever felt only anger from seeing his name on her call screen.

There had been occasions, when she was weaker, that she had called just to hear his voice. Often, at those times, John had been busy with a meeting or trying to sleep during a precious few moments of downtime, and her pathetic need for reassurance was only an irritant.

And who could blame him? August knew precisely the meal on his plate. John Ward had the weight of a country on his back; a country that would never know his name or face because he worked in the shadows, with too small a budget and too large a responsibility. That was why she had forced herself to change, to break those moments of weakness under the iron force of her will. Today's August Evans wasn't that small girl calling in the middle of the night, that stranger in a strange land crying for home.

She made the call.

"Yes?" came John's clipped response.

"It's me," August said.

"I know that. I can see your ID."

"Right. Well, just thought I'd give you an update."

"Things are going well, I assume. You had a date tonight."

How much detail to give? It would take half an hour to explain the whole circumstance, and despite her carefully laid plans, she would end up looking more like a bungling idiot than a sophisticated mover and shaker. The short version would suffice.

"Yes, things are going well ... such as they are. I have to say that it's still as if James is just what he seemed to be. There's no evidence he's involved with UCC."

"James, is it?" John said. "And I don't believe it. Even if it's true, use him as a wedge. Pry things loose. This farce has gone long enough. It's time to fish or cut bait."

"My cover—"

"Will be blown one day regardless. And what use is cover with these worthless results you keep piling up? Sometimes I think you're just one of them, now. Are you sure you remember who you are under that fucking UCC badge?"

August's throat closed so tight that for a moment she couldn't breathe. Maybe that was good, because it kept her heart from leaping painfully out. "Y-you don't really mean that ... do you?"

A long silence.

At last, John sighed. "Sorry. Things aren't going well on the Pakistan side. I've got the director riding my ass every day and the section chief riding it every night. Keep doing what you're doing and let me know if something develops. Out."

John hung up, in the same abrupt way that August knew he did with all his other staff, though in truth she couldn't even be called a part of his staff because she wasn't paid. There was a time when he would have added love you or at least take care, but that time was as forgotten as the time when August was weak and needed to hear it.

Now she was strong. So strong that it took less than fifteen minutes to control the crushing tightness in her chest. It didn't help that she had to keep wiping her eyes because the lights were turned up too high. Weren't pubs supposed to be dim?

She would choose a better location next time. Learning from mistakes was growth. Tonight's near-disaster was an opportunity in disguise.

You couldn't win every hand you were dealt. What mattered was who had all the chips in the end.